


Enough

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12959976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: What if the boys met before?Senior year of college, winter break, New York City. Steve and Danny fall into bed, and into a bit more than either of them bargained for, but it’s not enough, because it can’t last more than one fabulous week. Not with them both set on the paths that will lead Steve to become a Navy SEAL, and Danny... well, Danny’s on the edge of a major decision, which Steve influences more than he realizes.Twelve years later they find themselves thrown together, at Steve’s dad’s place, the blood still on the wall. And after all that time their feelings are still raw, there’s definitely still something there. But will it be enough?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trinipedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinipedia/gifts).



> Another AU! Having, at trinipedia's suggestion, done an [“if they didn’t meet” story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12700800/chapters/28961145), I found I really wanted to do an “if they met before” story (also her suggestion). This came so beautifully, willingly, welling up as though it already existed and just needed to be remembered. It seriously was so much fun. I hope you enjoy it half as much as I did.
> 
> Trinipedia was lovely enough to read and comment on the draft, and her comments made substantial impacts on the story that took it from feeling really good to feeling fucking amazing (and from 15k to 18k). So, thanks due to her, endlessly, for that stunning ability. I’m truly honored and thankful and frankly more than a little smitten. *kisses, babe*
> 
> This is not a WIP, it is complete, but I will post one chapter a day.
> 
>  **Warnings for content:**  
>  * This is a holiday story, but it is not light and fluff by any means. (There is a happy ending, I promise.)  
> * There are references to **past emotional, verbal, and physical abuse, also involving sex** (but not non-con).  
>  * There are also descriptions of related **anxiety/panic-type reactions**.  
>  * The sexual content and language is more explicit than I usually write, but not enough to bump up from “Mature” to “Explicit.”  
> * There’s a fucking shit load of swearing, even compared to my usual. 
> 
> _Alright.... here we go!_

_New York, New York, December 21, 1998_

Danny’s standing outside the bar that fronts the club that had been both his solace and his downfall over the summer. He’s not really sure why he’s come back. Maybe he needed to prove to himself he could. Maybe he hopes he’ll have an experience that will help cleanse some of the filth of the summer from his memory. Or maybe he’s just got a goddamn self-destructive streak now, and he’s fucking back for more.

He never used to have that tendency. Never went through a petulant phase as a teenager, never really rebelled when he hit college. But he’s more than made up for all of that in one completely fucked up summer. One summer of dissolving totally into a mess of what-do-I-do-with-my-life, sparked by the approaching end-of-college crisis he’d found himself in after junior year. One long summer of assholes named Tony who fuck you and leave you a lot more than physically bruised. The whole summer is a disaster he’d like to forget.

Well. Most of it. Living In The City had almost been worth it. To have that, to be able to say, _I lived in the City_.... He knows he’ll never afford it as a grown up, whatever he decides to do, so doing it in his twenties when he can sleep on the floor with the rats and not mind it too much, yeah, it had been worth just about anything. A completely fucked up sense of self and of how People Like Him (whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean) deserve to be treated... well. That price tag was a bit on the high end of things, yes. But he’ll get over it eventually, he thinks. _He hopes_.

And so he finds himself standing outside but unwilling to actually go inside the bar. He almost wishes he smoked. You can get away with a lot, if you’re a smoker. Lingering. Waiting for nothing in particular. Eavesdropping. Spying. Checking people out, in other words. Like the group of friggin’ cadets or something who’ve just unloaded down the street. Bright, shining, fucking sparkling, practically. West Point or Annapolis, he figures. One stands out. Because isn’t that always the way. And, it’s just Danny’s luck that he’s the one everyone is clearly in love with. They’re practically fawning over him, which is how Danny catches his name—“Steve! Come with us to get Chinese!” and “Steve, let’s go dancing!”

Steve doesn’t seem at all drawn by either plan. It seems Steve has plans of his own, wants to _be_ on his own. He sends them all on their way, watching until they’re out of sight, letting out a relieved breath once they’re gone. And Danny can’t blame him for that, all that fawning would drive any sane person mad. It’s almost like Steve senses that kindred thought emanating from Danny, because he looks up, catches Danny’s glance, and _shit_ , right in his gut like a punch. He’s no novice flirt, is Danny, so he holds Steve’s eyes, and it’s like fucking magnetism. Steve grins crookedly and slowly begins to amble up the street towards Danny’s spot, half in the shadows, spotlighted by the flickering neon light that hints at what might be found within.

“Hey.”

“That your best line?”

Steve smirks. “You from around here?”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He licks his lips. “Alright... I’m new in town, wanna show me around?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” And Danny looks around to make sure no one’s walking down the street, takes a step further into the shadows, and then reaches out and grabs Steve by the neck of his too-tight shirt, spread teasingly against his taut chest under the heft of his Navy peacoat, and pulls him in for a quick, rough kiss.

“That works, too.” And oh, something about that voice, heavy and amused but still sharp, it does things to Danny, and he knows he can’t let go.

“I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Let’s go get pizza.” And he pushes off the wall, looking over his shoulder, his best moody look primed, but he doesn’t even need to use it because Steve is following him with an expression like he hung the moon, and seriously, Danny’s so thrown by that he almost stumbles.

“I haven’t had New York pizza yet.” Steve sounds way too eager. Danny kinda likes it, but he isn’t about to let that show.

“How long have you been here?” He lets the disdain drip from his tone.

Steve looks at his watch. “Um, twenty minutes?”

“Alright, you’re forgiven.” It takes a moment of effort to not laugh, but he succeeds.

Danny leads him to a real dive, just a few blocks away, but it’s the best damn pizza he’s ever had.

Steve’s frowning at the admittedly limited menu. “How come there’s no pineapple?” And Danny almost spits.

“Where the fuck are you from, Hawaii?”

Steve meets his sarcastic expression with one that’s utterly straight: “Uh, yeah.”

“Jesus Christ.” His eyes roll so hard they hurt, and he actually laughs.

Danny takes over, since Steve obviously can’t be trusted, and he orders two bottles of beer, a slice of cheese, a slice of pepperoni, and a slice of meatball, and they share the slices, crammed into the tiniest booth ever, their knees pressed together, the grease dripping from their fingers, and they’re not at all subtle in licking their fingers off, and they wind up having to stay in the booth for a while before they dare stand. So they’re pretty much of a same mind about what to do after, and they find a park bench under a broken street light, just around the corner down a side street. Their kisses taste like cheap beer and spicy pepperoni. They hold back from groping, but only because they’re nervous about being seen. Danny knows he’s as hard as a fucking rock, and he guesses Steve is too.

Eventually they pull apart. They have to, or they have to keep going, and neither of them is bold enough for that. Danny’s heart is fucking racing in his ears and he feels a little like he wants to throw up. Steve’s glanced at his watch, and he looks upset.

“You got curfew or something?”

“Yeah. How’d you guess?”

He waves at Steve. “Um. Watch. Face.” Danny sighs. “But also your little troop back there was not exactly subtle.”

Steve smiles crookedly, and Danny wants to kiss it off, kiss it into something less fond, less kind... something harder. “I can meet you tomorrow... during the day, say ten a.m.?”

That makes Danny’s heart lift, against his will. But he’s not gonna admit it, alright? “Better bring me coffee and something sweet.” He tries to sound irritated. He’s not really sure he succeeds.

Steve grins at him, and shit does he have to look so goddamn pleased? “I can do that.”

Danny slides Steve’s sleeve up his arm, pulls a pen out of his back pocket, and writes the address of the place he’s staying. He’s expecting Steve to flinch, he’s not exactly gentle, but Steve just grins bigger, and with a flash it occurs to Danny the guys’s got tattoos. _Duh, Navy guy, Danny_. The thought doesn’t really help the state of his pants. Shit.

Steve stands, and Danny thinks for one awful moment he’s going to salute, but he just smiles.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Danny.”

“Uh, yeah,” he responds, oh, so suavely. This guy’s got him so messed up already, he really should be worried. But he’s so fucking gorgeous, he just can’t make himself care. “See ya tomorrow.”

Steve’s eyes narrow slightly, his smile turns thoughtful—it’s like he’s figuring something out about Danny, and it makes him feel awkward and exposed, but in a way that he almost likes. As Steve walks awkwardly away, Danny thinks that maybe Christmas break won’t completely suck after all.

He wanders for a while before heading back to the apartment, because he knows he won’t sleep much—if at all. He’s staying at Jake and Bobby’s again, while they’re home for the holidays. But he was barely there over the summer, so he doesn’t really mind. Tony never set foot there—Danny thinks he doesn’t even know where it is, he’d always insisted (okay, okay, _demanded_ ) that Danny come to his. That Danny come at his beck and call. Fucking _snap_ , and if Danny wasn’t there instantly, well... sometimes he thinks he still feels the bruises. Not to mention the cracks in his soul.

Still, it doesn’t do to dwell on shit like that. Besides, if he thinks about it for too long he falls too easily into blaming himself. He’d been so thrown by things that spring. Junior year is hard; everyone warns you of that. And he’d been freaked out about it, but when he found his classes _easy_ , when he surpassed his advisor’s plans for his course work, and when his advisor had begun suggesting Danny think about Grad School.... Well, there’s nothing like being confronted with What Do You Want To Do With Your Life to shake you to your foundation. So, ironically, acing Junior Year Econ, which is supposed to be fucking impossible, is what led to Danny’s _real_ freak out.

Thing is, Danny hadn’t really had any solid notions of what he’d do with the degree, and he’d been fine with that, thanks. He might have at one point had vague notions of being one of Those Guys in the City... but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the stomach for that kind of life. Not to mention he hates ties with a real serious passion. To be completely honest, he isn’t sure why the idea of becoming an academic terrifies him. He kinda likes the idea of having an office, wearing those jackets with the patches on the elbows. There’s a romance to it that appeals to him on some level. He’s pretty sure it’s the idea of four more years of school that did him in. Four more years of feeling like a burden, feeling tied to his parents, feeling like he’s not _enough_ , feeling like he’s not quite _real_.

And it was _that_ that had led him to the City. The need to feel _more_ , to feel real. It was also what led him to Tony’s bed. And, oh, it felt real alright. Danny fell hard into a pit of real, and he’d nearly drowned.

One night, after an especially rough round of things, he’d pulled himself out, spitting metaphorical dredge water out of his lungs, and fled. Wandering, beaten and bloodied, down darkened New York City streets, trying to remember the way to the apartment he hadn’t been in for weeks, Danny’d been physically aware of the misery of those around him, and he’d found it washed some of his own agony away. He remembered how as a kid, he’d wanted to be a cop, wanted to _help_ people. To think not selfishly of himself but of others whose hurts were far worse than his own. He’d at some point come to realize that was just as selfish a desire, and he’d left it in favor of what he was actually _good_ at.

And, Danny was really good with numbers. He always had been, from baseball stats as a kid to high school math. And he loved it... at least on some level. That level where something that you do easily and well is something that others find praiseworthy. Because _that_ is a hard thing to resist. His parents had spent their hard earned money on a college education for Danny, and that wasn’t something many members of the Williams family had been lucky enough to have. He couldn’t just throw it away, but the closer he got to that insanely expensive piece of paper, the more he felt it just wasn’t going to be _enough_.

Danny’s the first to admit he’s emotional and dramatic as well as—he hopes—idealistic. But he had not been at all prepared for how much a dilemma like this could mess him up.

Hence, not sleeping.

At least the not-sleeping _tonight_ will have a positive side to it, and he finds himself anxiously awaiting the morning for the first time in a very long time. He just has to not think too hard about that, because something in it feels very dangerous and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know why.


	2. Chapter 2

Danny answers the door, his hair he knows is messed up, but he also knows it looks hot. He’s wearing pajama bottoms that are so worn they’re practically see-through, and his chest is bare.

Steve’s eyes flash as Danny grabs him by the lapel of his Navy coat and drags him in. “Aren’t you cold?”

“I was hoping you’d keep me warm, Hawaii.” The line goes right to Steve’s dick, and Danny knows it.

He’s got a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a bag that’s heavy and warm and smells like heaven. “I have no idea what any of those are. They’re Italian.”

“Nice guess.” Danny gifts him with his best appreciative glance before setting both items aside.

“Thanks,” Steve’s grinning hugely, and he reaches out a hand and trails it slowly, longingly, down Danny’s chest, pulling just lightly on the blond hairs.

Danny sucks in a breath at the contact, can’t wait to feel that Naval firm body beneath him. _Beneath him, on top of him, inside of him...._

“Let’s fuck first.” He’s already tugging on Steve’s coat, which he sheds gracefully as he steps out of his boots and shoves Danny backwards.

“Well, alright then,” Steve practically purrs, and Danny thinks he’s the absolute most infuriating combination of utter polite propriety and absolute willing slutishness. He adores it already. And yes, he’s very aware that he’s utterly fucked, before he’s even been fucked. (Thanks for pointing it out, though.)

Danny’s prepped himself very patiently and thoroughly, so he doesn’t give Steve much to do, and Danny is ready to be aggressive and take charge because he thinks he needs that, and Steve looks for a moment like he might fight back, but then something passes through his eyes as he’s looking deeply into Danny’s, and he stills, and he almost goes lax, holding himself just perfectly for Danny to take what he needs, and Danny stutters for a second, but then he regroups, but somehow the energy has shifted, and it’s not angry sex like he thought he wanted. It’s still powerful, so stunningly powerful, but it’s not about intimidation or domination or power games. It’s just fucking amazing sex. And Steve’s meeting him in every way, supporting him, pushing him, but letting him feel he’s absolutely in control, and Danny had forgotten it could be like this... if he ever even knew.

He’s not really sure he did.

Steve gets up and pads, naked, into the other room where they’d left the coffee and pastry. He hands both to Danny who laughs when he finds that the coffee’s not even cold yet. He breaks bites of the pastries off and feeds them to Steve, teaching him the names of all of them, warning him he’ll quiz him later. Steve licks Danny’s pastry cream coated fingers using maybe a little too much teeth, and Danny loves that. He loves that he trusts Steve, even though he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t mean to, didn’t mean to. Never meant to trust a guy he fucked ever again. But here’s this guy, who is kind and soft, and fucking hard as a... _well, sailor, Jesus_. And Danny’s pretty sure he’s just lost. And he should mind. He knows he should mind. But he just doesn’t.

The cream-filled pastries lead to some interesting ideas in Danny’s head, and he’s soon got Steve ready for round two. This time it’s more playful, because the inclusion of sugary fillings can have that effect, and it almost starts to approach being _tender_ , but Danny loses his nerve and pulls it back from that dangerous edge just in time—into safer, more jagged sharp edges of the whole persona he tries to maintain. You’re better off not asking, unless you seriously want to get punched in the face.

But something about Steve breaks down his defenses, even when he’s trying hard to maintain them. And it releases something in his chest, and he doesn’t want it to, but he can’t control it, and they go almost directly into a third time that’s sweeter and softer, and goddammit, bordering on _loving_ , and Danny’s so freaked by it, that if it didn’t add a fucking intense layer to the whole thing he’d be in a panic.

As it is, he’s totally thrown by it, by the feelings in his chest, and as soon as he can move, he downs the rest of the coffee and stands, searching for his clothes. He has to get out of the apartment. He needs to be moving, needs the distractions of the City flooding his senses, keeping him from being able to think.

He throws Steve’s underwear in his face. “Get dressed. You need to see the city.”

“I really don’t.” He’s chuckling softly, posing on the bed like some sort of model. Danny thinks he could easily be one, and he fights with himself for two seconds, thinking he might just climb back in bed and stay there, with that spectacular, _willing_ , warm body all day. But something pushes him, says go _out_. And he’s not really sure what it is, not sure it’s only his need for air, for drowning out his thoughts. He thinks there’s something else behind it, and tries not to be unsettled by not knowing what it is, but he doesn’t really succeed.

“Yeah, you do. And I need something more than sugar and caffeine on which to live.”

_Like booze_.

God, he really needs a drink, and he finds a bottle of something that’s far too brightly colored, but alcohol nonetheless, and he makes them do shots of it, and it’s disgusting, cloyingly sweet, and it’s only made better by vigorous kissing, cleansing the taste out of each other’s mouths with their tongues.

They wander the city, and it seems hapless, but Danny’s following some internal compass he didn’t even realize he had, but he guesses he’s following his well-beaten paths of the summer, and maybe he’s somehow sharing something about that time with Steve, by walking him down those same streets.... And maybe if he’d think about it he’d see, he’s healing the cracks in his soul, in his life, by walking them again... and it’s just possible that he’s using Steve as glue.

They stroll through Chinatown, the open stalls and tables of strange, rancid smelling fish and stranger vegetables that Danny finds so exotic, and they don’t startle Steve at all, and Danny wonders how much he already knows of the world. Somehow it pains him to think of it, so he tries not to, but he pulls Steve closer anyway, tucking his hand inside the pocket of Steve’s jacket, bumping up against him. It earns him a warm, soft smile, and Danny feels it in his knees, wants to shake it off, thinks he should, but he just crawls further into it, into that bright, safe feeling.

They meander through Little Italy, and Steve points out where he’d got the pastries, offers to get more, which Danny points out would be a bad idea as they will forever be linked in his mind with sex. The yells of the store owners and waiters, their vibrant tones and gestures and language, the cacophony of sounds and smells, are a comfort to Danny and an amusement to Steve. Danny says he thinks he could easily live here, in Little Italy. Happily just vanish into the anonymity of the City, the comfort of all the yelling and smells of food. Of home—but without the expectations, without the obligations. Steve looks a little like he understands what Danny means, and it’s Steve’s turn to pull Danny closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, but he pulls it off, Danny thinks, in that “buddies” kinda way. Besides, they’re in Little Italy, where the men all practically grope each other in greeting, so Steve could probably full on kiss him on the lips and no one would blink.

They take the subway down to the Financial District, walk along the waterfront, shoulder to shoulder, and Danny wonders if Steve feels more comfortable at the water’s edge, because it seems like his step lifts and his posture shifts, and Danny asks if Steve’s not comfortable in cities, what with having grown up on an uncivilized island where pineapple gets put on pizza. Steve laughs and admits he misses bare feet on warm sand, and he doesn’t mind the cold, not really, but the tall buildings make him nervous somehow, and being near an exit, being near the water feels safer. Danny thinks he gets that, so he stays near the water for a bit longer, and they walk up along the East River, towards the Brooklyn Bridge, and then when he thinks Steve can deal with it, he heads them back to the subway, and up to Central Park.

They eat hotdogs from a street vendor, sitting up against the lions in front of the library, and Steve says Danny reminds him of a lion, and Danny growls in response. Steve’s smile is way too fond, and it freaks Danny out and makes him warm all over at the same time. He tells Steve about his dilemma, about not knowing what to do next, of wanting to be a cop, just like when he was a kid, but knowing he’s got this weight, of the degree, and feeling obligated... and Steve guesses there’s more to the story than that but doesn’t push. He tells Danny that he dreams of becoming a Navy SEAL, but he worries he doesn’t have what it takes, but he has to try, needs to try.

Danny gets them pretzels, he lets the mustard drip between his fingers, and licks it off, earning himself a heated glare from Steve. They tumble into an alley that stinks of garbage and possibly something dead or dying, and they kiss and kiss and fumble and pull apart almost too late.

They sit and watch the people, the holiday shoppers, the regular City folk, the men in suits, the ladies in impossibly high heels, the blue collar guys in coveralls, nannies pushing strollers, students holding hands... the entire world of possibility, passing them by as they sit far too close to be mistaken for friends—and they get glares, and glare right fucking back, and they get kind smiles, and smile back. It’s everything and it’s nothing, because it’s The City. It’s not real fucking life, and Danny knows it, but he pretends not to care. Tries not to care. Just for one hour, just for one day. And he almost succeeds.

They eat at a diner, and Steve marvels over the pages and pages of the menu. They each choose breakfast, and Danny thinks there’s something symbolic in that. Dinner is too serious, too grown up, and lunch is just boring. But breakfast is promise and beginning. It’s a _start_ , even when it’s late at night.

Hand in hand in the dark they walk, heedless of their surroundings, lulled into this kind of bubble of _just_ _them_ by the endless swish and scream of the city around them. Within the fragile walls of that artificially created space, the tentative tendrils of connection reach out and tangle together and pull them tight, so that by the time it’s been barely twenty-four hours since they met, it feels as though they’ve been together endlessly longer.

Steve walks Danny back to the apartment. They stand in the entry, under the too-bright overhead light—a bare bulb swinging ominously on a fraying wire. Danny thinks he knows how it feels. But Steve is solid against him. Unwavering, and totally confident, completely in spite of everything. Danny wants to fall into it, to absorb something from it somehow, to take on those characteristics himself—through osmosis, through his skin, through kisses. _If only it worked like that_.

“I have to do some training stuff tomorrow,” Steve whispers into Danny’s ear as he bends to kiss it. “But I’ll sneak out at night and come to you.”

It’s not a question, it’s not _if you like_ , or _may I please_. It’s not a demand either. It’s simply stating what they both know is true. They both want it, whatever time they have, they’ll take it. Danny nods, leans into the kiss further, turning his head so Steve’s lips find his, but pulling away before he starts to get hard because that’s something he can’t deal with on his own tonight. Steve can tell, and he smiles as he turns to go.

Danny yells after him: “I’ll be at the club. The one behind the bar.” He knows he’ll need the music, the noise, to drown out his heart. Steve nods as he’s walking away, and Danny thinks his step lightens. He doesn’t go inside until Steve’s vanished from his sight.

Danny doesn’t sleep much that night. But then, we’ve already established, he’s used to that.


	3. Chapter 3

Danny makes himself eat some ramen before he heads out to the club where he plans on getting very drunk while waiting for Steve to show up. He’s only downed three shots of repulsive but effective Goldschläger when his skin crawls in warning, right before his gut drops to the floor.

“ _Well_. _Look who it is_.” Every syllable is coated in something disgustingly between revulsion and lust, and Danny wishes he could vomit on command. 

He turns and acknowledges the slime at his elbow. The admittedly gorgeous slime. Oh, he really didn’t want to still see it. In his dreams, when he imagined facing Tony down, he didn’t still see how goddamn hot he is. But he is, if you go for that whole Bad Boy from the Italian neighborhood, Greaser Classic in dark jeans, white tee, black leather jacket, dark slicked back hair. Danny does, by the way. He really fucking does. Tony’s a Billy Joel song incarnate, and it has a direct line to Danny’s pants. Which is how he wound up in Tony’s in the first place. _Shit_.

“ _Tony_ ,” he says with as much disdain as he can around the thickness in his throat. “I have just as much right to be here as you do, you dick.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet,” Tony drawls as he leans in, invading Danny’s personal space like he only has the lease and Tony owns it. Which sums up pretty neatly how Tony treats people. Danny avoids swallowing, because he knows he will fail, and then Tony will know. He tries not to breathe, tries not to move. Won’t let Tony see him flinch. “You remember my dick? It sure remembers you, you pretty little _slut_.”

He says it so quietly no one else can hear it, and that, of course, is his secret. Yeah, he’s a bad boy, everyone knows it. Everyone also knows he’s an ass. But they don’t know just how... insidious he is. How he creeps under your skin, once he’s caught you, and slowly releases his venom. He’s the worst kind of snake, because it takes you too long to figure it out, and by then, you’re trapped.

“Fuck off.”

Tony moves even closer, pressing his body up against Danny’s in that way that’s half invitation, half threat. Danny won’t let himself flinch, won’t move away. He can feel Tony’s half hard, but then Danny’s pretty sure Tony’s always half hard. Danny’s overwhelmed by the smoke on him and wants to cough—not fresh smoke, _stale_ smoke. And this, this is why he doesn’t smoke, regardless of the eavesdropping benefits. That awful stale smoke smell that takes months to get off of your skin, out of your soul. Danny’d thought just maybe he’d finally gotten it off of him, out of his fucking bones, but he knows now it’s still there. Too deep to be aware of it—which is worse, because you _think_ you’re finally safe right up until the very second you realize just how unsafe you really are. And he wants to shove the jerk away from him, knock him to the ground so hard his teeth fall out. But he won’t even touch him. He doesn’t dare. (Just don’t ask if that’s because he’s afraid he’ll hurt him, or afraid he’ll kiss him. Just. Don’t ask.)

Steve doesn’t have the same compunction, because suddenly he’s there, breaking the tension with a wave of intensity that hits Danny like a bucket of water, and suddenly his hand is squarely on Tony’s chest, forcing him back, back, back, away from Danny. And Danny can breathe again, and his lungs flood with clean, clear air, and he feels lightheaded from it, like a spell’s been broken.

“Is there a problem here?” Steve’s voice is quietly ominous, just this side of threatening, but making it clear it will _be_ threatening in a heartbeat if it needs to be.

Tony bristles as he jerks back from Steve’s touch. He clearly did not expect this, did not expect anyone to get between him and his prey. And Danny recognizes the tilt of Tony’s chest, his shoulders tensing. If he were a peacock, he’d be fucking spreading his feathers. Steve’s got a good few inches on Tony, and he’s lithe where Tony’s more roundly muscled in that blue collar kind of way. But Steve is solid on his feet, and clearly grounded, and his obvious military training exudes from his being like a fucking brilliant radiant light. Tony’s got _nothing_ on Steve in terms of physical presence, and Danny’s pretty sure it’s painfully obvious to Tony. Which means he’s not damn likely to back down. Danny doesn’t know Steve well enough to know if _he_ will, but he’s betting not.

“And who the fuck are you?” Tony finally finds his words, and Danny nearly snorts. He’s _never_ heard Tony this rattled.

Steve’s voice is calm, completely level, and Danny thinks he owes a load of gratitude to someone in Naval training. “I’m here with Danny. That’s all you need to know.”

Tony rolls his eyes. Danny’s stomach rolls with them. “Well, you should know what kind of _trash_ you’re dealing with, buddy.”

Steve’s response is immediate and instinctive, and it thrills Danny. His hand is back on Tony’s chest, fisting his white tee shirt this time. “You wanna say that again?” And in a flash Danny sees the difference between them. Tony says crap like that all the time, and it feels dangerous, but he knows now that’s hollow. Because when Steve says it, you just know. He means it. And he absolutely has the ability to fucking back it up. And, oh my god, now is not the time to be turned on, but part of Danny really can’t help it.

Tony’s on the balls of his feet. He’s spoiling for a fight, even more since it’s so goddamn obvious to everyone watching that he’s outmatched. Steve’s not giving any sign he’s going to back down, and Danny’s growing afraid Steve’s too willing to give it to him.

Just as it looks like Tony is about to make a move, Bruce at the bar clears his throat. And Steve’s training, his drilled-in deference to authority, kicks in. Danny can see the moment it happens; he visibly stands down. He lets Tony go and slowly backs away, tucking Danny behind him, keeping his body solidly between Tony and Danny.

Tony starts to move forward, menacingly, but one of his jackass henchmen grabs his shoulder, and instead he settles for a sleazy glare up and down Steve’s body, a rude gesture, and then he turns on his heel, remarkably cool, head held high, and walks out the door like he still owns the place.

Steve watches them go, then he tugs on Danny, leads him out to the dance floor. “Dance with me,” he whispers when Danny just stands there, unmoving. Danny only realizes he’s shaking when Steve pulls him closer. “What’d he do to you?” He whispers in his ear.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Danny huffs out a laugh.

Steve looks into his eyes. Sternly. “It does.”

He knows he’s gonna cry. Or throw up. And wants to do neither. Not in front of Steve, not ever.

“I woulda punched him for you.”

And that, thankfully, makes him laugh, breaks the tension. “I know. And I appreciate that. But, trust me. He’s not worth it. He’s not worth a pile of shit from a rat.”

“But that’s not the point. If he hurt you, I want to hurt him back.” There’s real feeling there, and it startles Danny, though it shouldn’t, given the little display Steve’s just put on.

“Oh, that’s supremely civilized of you. Learn that in the Navy, didja?”

“No. I learned that in _life_.”

Danny’s eyes narrow suspiciously. Steve meets Danny’s look with an openness that suggests he’d tell Danny anything. And while Danny appreciates that sentiment, he’s got a whole list of things he’d rather be doing. Which makes him realize they’ve no business being in public anyway.

“Let’s get out of here. Can you stay the night?”

Danny doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t want to be alone; he’s sure Steve knows it. Steve nods, as though there wasn’t ever any question, which Danny knows is not true—he knows Steve’s already risking a lot to be here, but he doesn’t look at all concerned about anything other than Danny, and that’s really kind of hard for Danny to take. Steve pulls him closer, kisses him fiercely, protectively, and then he takes Danny’s hand and leads him out the door. 

  
Some instinct that surprises Danny leads Steve to take them first into the shower and to wash Danny very carefully, very gently, very thoroughly. He then leads Danny to the bed and proceeds to take him slowly and painstakingly apart. After, they’re resting, Danny on his side, his head propped up on his hand, gazing at Steve as he memorizes Danny’s other hand with his own.

“How’d you know?” Danny asks, and he’s not sure which part he means, and maybe he means all of it, but he thinks he especially means the shower.

“Because I know what it feels like.”

“How could you?” He’s looking, he knows, up and down Steve’s body.

Steve laughs, harshly. “Because I’m physically strong? What the fuck does that have to do with it?”

“I dunno. You can protect yourself.”

“ _Not emotionally_.” It’s harsh, like he spits it out, and Danny almost cringes, and Steve softens. “Danny, look. People are jerks, you can’t control that. I wish you could, and maybe that’s why I do what I do, and it’s probably why you’re thinking about dumping away your education and joining the force, and I admire that, I really do. But don’t do it because some ass hurt you. Don’t give him that kind of power over your life and your choices. Because, yeah, it feels good to nail the bad guys. But it’s never gonna heal the hurt that creep did to you. The only person who can do that is you. But you have to _want_ to.”

He listens. Really, he does, but some of the words go bleary on him. Maybe he’s just not ready to hear it, maybe it’s still too raw. Maybe he’s not ready yet to let go of the anger... it fuels him, that anger. It keeps him warm, even on the darkest, coldest nights, and there’s something comforting about that. It’s become his only constant. And maybe that’s bad. But it feels like it’s all he has right now.

 _Maybe_ , a tiny part of him whispers, maybe he could have more _if he’d let himself_. And he looks longingly at Steve, at what Danny thinks he’s offering. But that, he knows, would only be temporary. And Danny has a fear of the fleeting. Danny needs permanence. And right now, this positive force beside him—as stunning and as compelling as he is—is not, _cannot be_ , permanent. And even just the thought of it threatens to shatter his already fractured heart.

He starts to panic.

“I think you should go,” he manages to choke out, as his world feels like it’s slowly collapsing around him.

Steve laughs. Actually laughs.

“ _Fuck you_.” Danny wants it to sound vicious, but it just sounds petulant.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa, if you can’t have me in your bed tonight. I get that, Danny. But I am _not_ leaving you alone tonight. _Not after that_. If you think that for one fucking second, you don’t get anything about me.”

Danny’s about to start crying, so he does the only thing he can. He flomps over on his side, his back to Steve, and points to the door.

“Fine. But you know where I am.”

And Danny feels the tug, as Steve—not gently—grabs one of the pillows, and one of the blankets off the bed.

“Don’t let him win, Danny.” And he closes the door softly.

Danny doesn’t feel better once Steve’s out of the room, he feels a whole lot fucking worse. And, even more frustrating, the tears that were threatening have decided not to fall—presumably out of spite.

No, being alone isn’t helping. His anger isn’t helping. And maybe he’s already lost some of it or maybe Steve stole it somehow, but what he feels now is this tight clenching of fear. That slow, slimy creeping of anxious uncertainty. Nothing so bright and clear as vivid, poker-hot anger; not the searing, seething agony that burns so bright it hides everything else. And fuck, Danny thinks, if this is what happens if you let go of the anger, then this is why he wants to stay mad. But he can’t. And he hasn’t the least idea why, and he’s really starting to shake now, not from tears, but from something he doesn’t recognize, something he doesn’t want to look closely at.

He draws a sharp breath, to try and calm himself, but it doesn’t work— he pulls in air, but there’s no oxygen in it, and it doesn’t burn, it doesn’t sting, it’s like it’s nothing at all. Totally empty air. And the sensation consumes him for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, and eventually, when he feels like he’s about to black out, it passes. Suddenly, and solidly, like something’s actually left him. He feels different somehow, and he doesn’t want to try to understand it right now, because there’s only one thing he wants. And he hates himself for it, he knows he’ll regret it, and not just in the short term, but in the longest run of all. Because he knows there’s no way—no possible path forward for them—that ends with _happy ever after_.

Danny thinks that probably that’s not something real, happy ever after. But _Steve_ is very real. And he’s in the next room... and he won’t be for long. Danny knows he can’t _not_ take it while it’s there, he knows that. He knew it before, he was just being an overly emotional, immature ass.

He stumbles out of the bed, and opens the door, walking forward, and bangs immediately, and somewhat painfully, into the back of the sofa.

“What the _fuck_?”

Steve’s sitting on the sofa, his back to Danny, but Danny’s pretty sure he’s grinning that mad Cheshire cat grin.

“Why have you blocked me inside this room?” He tries to sound angry, but if he’d pull his head out of his own ass for five seconds, he’d realize he’s about to laugh (either that or complain about his stubbed toe).

“Two reasons.” And it sounds like Steve’s giving tactical reasoning for an op, for fucksake. “One, so you’d feel protected.” Which makes no sense because Danny didn’t know he was there, but whatever. “And two, so if you tried to escape, I’d know it.”

He half turns, to look at Danny, and evidently sees what he’d expected to in Danny’s expression (whatever that is) and turns back around, patting the sofa next to him. Danny rolls his eyes, but hops over and settles against Steve, who starts to run his fingers through Danny’s hair. It’s not something Danny ordinarily permits (he’s not a fucking dog), but from Steve it feels nice, and it calms him in a way he doesn’t expect.

“How come I didn’t hear it move?”

Steve sighs. “Because you were freaking out. It’s hard to hear things when you’re freaking out. That’s part of why I wouldn’t leave.”

“How’d you know?” Danny asks, again. And he knows Steve will only say what he’d said before, but Danny needs to hear it.

“Like I told you, Danny. I know what it looks like because I know what it feels like.”

And this time, hearing it, Danny’s heart breaks for Steve. And a tiny furl of anger returns, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe he knows what choice he’s going to make, and maybe it’ll be for the right reasons after all. It propels him up on his knees, desperate to kiss, desperate to hold, to soothe, to comfort, to protect, and desperate most of all to not let go for whatever time they have left.

Steve grabs tightly back, as though he reads all of those thoughts and echoes them, and kissing is all they do, but oh my god it’s almost better than sex. It’s fierce—not violently, not the way Danny’s used to—but in a positive way Danny didn’t know it could be. It’s also unbelievably tender, almost in that disgustingly romantic way it sometimes is in movies—only it really _is_. It’s soft and wonderful and a whole fucking lot more comforting than hot cocoa and cookies on Christmas Eve.

And that thought pulls him back to himself, because he’s pretty sure he’s forgotten what day it is. And where he’s supposed to be tomorrow. And he knows, just knows, he has to go—needs to go. And he knows just as certainly, he can’t do it without Steve. No, that’s not right. He doesn’t _want_ to do it without Steve. Still, he knows better than to ask now, in the flush of everything tonight, so he tucks the thought inside to sleep on it, falling against Steve’s protective embrace, and falling asleep right there, on the sofa blocking the door. And somehow that feels perfectly fitting.

The fact that he sleeps, and sleeps soundly, nestled against Steve’s side, possibly should tell him something. But he’s too exhausted to listen.


	4. Chapter 4

They’re up early, cramped and stiff from sleeping on the sofa, but more well-rested than Danny would have imagined. Steve gets them in the shower again, but this time lets Danny take control, and he mirrors Steve’s attentions from the night before, and the looks Steve gives him... he wonders how like his own they are. They pierce something deep within him, and settle somewhere close to his bones, and he’s pretty sure neither of them will be the same after, and it’s terrifying, and he knows it will hurt like hell when they part, but he doesn’t care because it means too much. And then, after a slow, tender, sweet fuck that Danny can’t bring himself to call anything else but probably should, he gets up, not putting any clothes on, and goes to make coffee. The coffee maker’s probably growing things, but he pours boiling water through it and hopes for the best. It’s surprisingly not horrible. As they sit, naked, on top of the sheets, drinking not very good coffee from chipped mugs, Danny returns to his decision from the night before.

“You got plans for the holiday?” Danny doesn’t wait for an answer. “Only, I gotta go home for a couple days. Just over the river in Jersey.... You could come with me. You’d have to pretend to be a friend of a friend or something. But it wouldn’t suck.” He pauses. “I mean, I’d really like it if you would.” He’s terrified to look up, to look at Steve, but he does, through his hair, tentatively.

Steve’s smiling at him, far too fondly, and it makes Danny feel nauseous. “Danny, I’d love that. It’s, ah... it’s been a long time since I’ve been to a home for Christmas.”

A surprising surge of anger floods through Danny at that. For all he’s going through some kind of _whatever_ and he’s feeling angry all the time and lost and confused, he knows home is always there, no matter how much he fucks up. To think that not everyone has that makes him mad. “Well, it’s nothing special, but there’ll be a ton of food and annoying people who will get in your business. And we play football, so you’ll love showing off your quarterbacking skills, and probably my family will try to adopt you.” Something flashes in Steve’s eyes as Danny pauses, and he feels his heart in his throat. Steve doesn’t like talking about family, Danny knows that from their few conversations, but he thinks it’s a whole lot worse than he’s imagined. “Just a couple warnings, though. My mom looks like a pushover but don’t let her fool you. My brother Matt’s a dope and a jerk, but he’s a good guy. My sisters are not to be trusted, especially my baby sister Bridget. She will scent you out if you give her an inch. So, don’t.” The unspoken thread of course is _I’m not out to my family_ , which doesn’t really need saying, given Steve’s own military status. Still, it makes Danny sick to his stomach. He pushes it down where he usually does and tries to ignore it.

He quickly finds distraction, because Steve’s gone soft at the mention of baby sisters, and he wants to ask, but doesn’t. In that unsettling way of his, Steve can read what Danny’s thinking, and he smiles, sadly. “Yeah, one younger sister. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

Danny wants to ask why the hell not, but Steve puts up a wall, turns the focus back to Danny, and they work on getting a story straight between them. They’ll need it, if they’re going to have a chance at pulling this off. Bridget, he thinks, won’t be fooled no matter what, but he can deal with her. The others, he’s not so sure about. Matty he can probably bribe with booze. But it’s his mom’s unfailing ability to see through him that has him most worried. It’s probably completely stupid to even attempt it. But he knows they only have a few more days, and he doesn’t want to lose that time with Steve, and that really makes him feel sick. They come up with a story about Steve being a friend of a friend who couldn’t go home to Hawaii because of timing, and it’s not great, but it’s close enough to truth and Danny hopes no one will look too carefully.

They take the train, and walk through the neighborhood from the station, mostly because Danny’s sentimental about that. He likes seeing the decorations everyone’s got up, because it’s like they all try to outdo each other every year with the tackiest, most god-awful display. He makes snarky commentary as they walk, because it makes Steve laugh, and Danny’s discovered that he really likes making Steve laugh.

Danny slows as they near his place, and Steve urges him on. Danny wishes they could kiss just once more before they head in, but he knows that’s a spectacularly bad idea, so he settles for squeezing Steve’s hand really hard, and then they step further apart, and Danny opens the door. They’re swept up in the warmth and smells from the kitchen, and Matt’s got a friend over too, and so does Bridget, and there’s aunts and great aunts and cousins and so much family, and Steve slips easily in to the extended Williams clan without so much as a bump, and Danny’s relieved until he catches his mom looking at him warmly and something prickles across his skin.

She corners him in the sun room later as he’s refilling the cooler chest of drinks they keep out there so there’s enough room in the fridge for all the food.

“He’s a sweet boy,” she says as she hugs him.

He wants to squirm away, but he lets her hold onto him for a while, and he finds he’s still comforted by her. He doesn’t want to admit that he likes that she approves of Steve, and too late he sees it, his chance to object—only realizing that she _knows_ when she kisses his cheek and says, softly: “I’m glad you brought him.” He’s looking at her with his mouth hanging open. “Close your mouth before you swallow a fly, Daniel. I’m your mother, you idiot. Did you really think I wouldn’t see?”

“See what?” It’s a whisper. As if that would make it not be true.

“ _Danny_. He’s in love with you, honey. And don’t tell me you don’t feel the same. _I know that face_.”

He gulps. “We’ve only known each other—” but he can’t finish that thought.

She’s smiling far too knowingly. “Do you really think that matters?”

And it makes it too real, hearing it from his mom. Takes it out of the realm of safely-inside-my-head and so possibly still somewhat imaginary. Puts it firmly in the world of Too Fucking Real. Danny really needs to sit down. “We graduate in the spring, and, he’ll be in the fucking _Navy_....”

She nods. “I know, baby, so take it for what it is. Don’t ruin it because you don’t know how it will end. _We never do_. Just enjoy it, honey.” And she kisses the top of his head and leaves him sitting there, in stunned silence.

Until, that is, Matty comes out, grousing about needing a beer if he’s going to be kissed by any more old-smelling people who love to tell the story about the time he was two and took off all his clothes during Christmas dinner, and fortunately he’s too focused on his own misery to notice Danny’s. For now at least. Danny pulls himself together, commiserates with his baby brother, but gets in a little ribbing of his own (because that Christmas really was memorable) and they finish filling the cooler, then Danny empties out a soda and pours a beer in it for Matt, which earns him a punch on the arm and a rustling of his hair and a smile that’s so fucking bright, it makes Danny’s heart swell. He’s glad he came. Despite everything, he loves his family, and Christmas just wouldn’t be the same without them. Which makes his heart ache for Steve in a way he didn’t know it could, and suddenly, he needs to be near him.

He finds Steve in the kitchen with Bridget, peeling potatoes. He’s showing her what Danny guesses is the official Navy technique for potatoes, and she’s loving it. He can’t decide which of them has the other already wrapped around their little finger, possibly both do. Bridge catches Danny watching them and she winks, and _yep_ , he’s pretty sure she’s worked it out. He sighs and watches them, and wonders how much Steve’s thinking about his own sister. It hurts his heart more than it should, he thinks. But he lets it—not that he has a choice. Those tendrils of connection never really stopped... swirling deeper and deeper without him even noticing. But home is warm and it’s familiar and it’s annoying and it’s too loud, and he loves it and it’s making him too soft and sentimental, and he just _lets it_.

Once the food’s all on and cooking, those up for braving the cold file out to the park down the block to play a quick game of football before dinner. As usual, the Williams family thinks _touch_ football means _tackle_ football, despite however much anyone yells about it. And that, unsurprisingly, suits Steve just fine. Especially as he and Danny are on opposite sides. Danny thinks he’ll be bruised for days, but he doesn’t mind one bit.

As they’re walking home, Steve bumps shoulders with Danny, and he slings an arm around him in that guys-playing-ball kind of way so he thinks they get away with it once more, but then Danny leans in closer and whispers “I swear, if I don’t get to kiss you soon, I am going to pass out,” and Steve shivers.

“Well, we can’t have that, now, can we.”

And it’s dangerous and it’s risky, but while everyone showers before dinner, they find five fantastic minutes to kiss like crazy and jerk each other off in the downstairs bathroom, and if they’re a little flushed when everyone gathers for dinner, well, so everyone is, from the cold outside and the hot showers they took, so maybe no one notices.

They’re all crammed in close at the table, and Danny’s mom has them sitting together, bless her, and their legs are pressed up against each other the whole time, and each time Steve puts his hand in his lap at his napkin, he brushes Danny’s thigh, and frankly, he’s never loved Christmas Eve dinner half this much.

There’s so much family in from out of town, and some great aunt up from Florida’s got Danny’s room, so he and Steve are relegated to the rec room downstairs, each on one side of the L-shaped sofa, their heads together in the middle.

Danny flomps down on the sofa, pulling the blanket up over him with a good dose of bitterness and resentment, which isn’t really fair. I mean, if he was in his room and Steve down here alone, then.... At any rate, Steve’s not bothered at all. Danny suspects he thinks it’s good for them to sleep comfortably lying down. To which he thinks _fuck that_. But there’s something kinda sweet about being close and having to be apart. And as he’s thinking that, he feels Steve’s hand creeping out, pushing its way under Danny’s pillow, and god help him, but he smiles. What is it this guy does to him? He sighs.

“Oh, just shut up and hold my hand, will ya?”

And he does. And the room is lit by the flashing of the lights on the shrubs out front, and he can smell the tree and the lingering smells from dinner and that indiscernible scent that says home.

“’Night, Danny. Merry Christmas.”

He squeezes Steve’s hand in response, and lays awake not thinking about how he doesn’t want to let go, but he soon drifts off to sleep that’s a lot more restful than he’s willing to admit.  

  
Breakfast the next morning is the usual insane Williams family affair. Too many pancakes, too much bacon, and not enough crumb cake. Someone starts complaining about the lack of prune cake, and the table swiftly falls into sides over whether it’s the best one or a disgusting thing no reasonable human should consume.

Steve clearly is amused, and equally clearly, besotted, and Danny half thinks Steve’s falling in love with his family, which Danny tries not to admit makes him ridiculously pleased.

Once everyone’s had way more than enough food, and his mom’s tried to convince them all they should eat more because she’s damn well not feeding them again until dinner, and Danny thinks someone’s spiked the entire pot of coffee, because he feels more than a little lightheaded as they gather in the living room, round the tree. There’s so many presents, there’s barely enough room for them to sit, and he winds up squashed very pleasingly up next to Steve on the sofa.

Danny glances at the mantle, knowing they always start with the stockings, and his heart stills when he sees his mother’s added one for Steve. She always has extra handmade felt stockings, hidden somewhere in the depths of her craft room, off the downstairs rec room where they’d slept. And she evidently stayed up late stitching Steve’s name onto one of them. She could, of course, have just pinned a slip of paper to it, but no. It’s perfect stitching, by hand, just like all of theirs. Danny knows when Steve’s seen it, because he goes completely still next to him and then he hears an exhalation that’s half way to a sob. Pressing his leg softly against Steve’s he whispers, knowing he won’t be heard over the usual arguing about who gets to hand out the stockings this year.

“Okay there, buddy?” 

Steve nods. “Just not something I’m used to. Being included.”

Danny chuckles softly. “My family isn’t the type to give you a fucking choice.” But he knows he sounds fond.

Bridget’s won the stocking-handing-out battle, evidently, as Matty is sulking into his hot cocoa and she’s very ostentatiously carrying Steve’s stocking over to him, presenting it to him like a goddamn trophy. She winks at Danny as she hands him his, and he’s pretty fucking sure she wags her ass in their faces as she walks away to hand out the rest.

“She’s guessed, hasn’t she?” Danny mumbles under his breath.

“Pretty sure she has, yeah,” Steve grins in response, and Danny’s certain that means he didn’t do anything to dissuade her of the notion.

He rolls his eyes, but Steve’s looking so flushed with delight over being included in the stockings, Danny just can’t find it in himself to be upset. 

The stockings have the usual candy cane sticking out the top and one small gag gift. Danny’s got a cop car, and it’s obvious who chose that one—he knows his dad’s trying to remind him of his childhood passion, make him not feel guilty for wanting to follow that dream. Steve has an action figure of some sort Danny doesn’t recognize but Steve does, and Danny marvels once more at his mother’s endless supply of random gifts, forever stashed away in her craft room. There’s also the usual chocolate coins which never get eaten, nuts which usually become projectiles at some point when no one’s slept enough and everyone’s had far too much sugar. And at the bottom of each stocking, is an orange—which his mother will no doubt commandeer for her cooking later, when no one’s looking.

Matty gets to hand out the gifts, since Bridge won the stocking battle, and Danny’s heart thumps loudly when he hands one to Steve.

Steve himself looks like he’s about to come undone, and Danny leans back, wrapping his arm around the back of the sofa, letting his arm just barely rest against Steve’s shoulder blades, knowing the touch will ground him. He’s rewarded with a swift sideways glance of gratitude, which he returns with a slight smirk. “Told ya,” he whispers, and Steve pulls himself together until he has to actually open the gift. It’s a pillowcase, plain, white cotton, but it has a line of pale blue embroidery waves all along the edge, which Danny only notices because he’s sitting right next to Steve. Jesus, how late was his mom up last night? Steve looks up at her, and she meets his glance with a knowing smile.

“My grandpa was in the Navy,” she explains. “Grandma used to send him embroidered pillowcases—the good cotton, she always said. Not the bristly stuff the military seems to think builds character. Our sailors and soldiers deserve a soft place to rest their heads at night.”

He gets up and goes to her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll make good use of this.”

She smiles at Steve, putting a hand to his cheek, and Danny feels his whole body flush. When he’s seated again, she winks at Danny and he rolls his eyes at her, which only makes her smile grow.

Danny gets the usual socks and underwear, which is delightfully embarrassing, thanks, mom, and also some music he’d asked for, so that’s nice.

When they all go to get dressed for the rematch football game, Steve pulls Danny aside, lifting something from his bag, and handing it to him.

“I wanted to get you something you could use, with whatever you decide to do. I know you said you hate ties, but... I figure you’re going to end up wearing one either way, so.... Whatever you decide, you can make use of it.”

Danny blinks to keep his eyes dry. “I didn’t get you anything,” he starts.

Steve tilts his head at Danny, and smiles. “ _Yeah, you did_. You got me Christmas with family. There isn’t a better gift you could have picked.”

They steal a quick kiss, and then have to burn off their mounting frustration with too much aggression during the game, until Bridget hisses at Danny to cool it unless he wants everyone to know, and part of him thinks _fuck it, so who cares_ , but he knows it’s not worth it, not when Steve won’t be a lasting feature in his life... and _that’s_ when it starts to really hit him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ungh. Loving the comments, thank you so much! <3 
> 
> This one more chapter in 1998, then we start moving towards 2010, and that moment in the garage.......

They leave that night, after Christmas dinner, after sitting by the tree, by the fire, drinking hot buttered rum, and almost, dangerously almost, cuddling. It’s Danny’s mom who suggests it. It’s like she knows. Which is because she does.

“Go back,” she whispers to Danny, and from the look on Steve’s face, she’s told him the same thing. “Make the most of the time you do have. You will regret it otherwise, Daniel. I’ve packed you some food. Just go, get the last train.”

He wants to say no, he wants to pretend it doesn’t matter. But it does. It matters so fucking much. He knows Steve’s got to be back the next day, and it’s slowly crushing the life out of his bones.

Steve catches him watching, and he closes his eyes and nods, so subtly that no one would notice but Danny. And what does that say? That they already have that kind of communication? That he sees things, reads things from Steve that he knows no one else sees, and Steve does the same with Danny. Although, to be fair, they had that from the very first moment they met.

And it hits him right in the gut, and he wasn’t prepared for that, and thankfully Steve can see it coming, and he’s by his side in a second, wrapping an arm around him, and talking to Danny’s mom like they’re working out their plans, and thank you so much for the food, yeah, we’ll go pack, it’ll be better to head back tonight and miss the crazy traffic tomorrow, thank you so much for everything.

There’s no fucking door on the rec room, but there is on the craft room, and Danny doesn’t fucking care at this point, he nods towards it, and Steve steers them to it, and he collapses against Steve’s strong, broad chest, just as he closes the door as soundlessly as he can.

“Oh, shit,” Danny gasps.

Steve takes a deep breath. He settles his backside against the craft table. “God, Danny. I’m so sorry. This has been....” He trails off, and Danny’s shaking his head. There’s just no point in trying to put words to it.

“Not exactly what either of us had in mind, eh?” He manages, which is surprising, seeing as how he can’t actually breathe.

Danny pulls away from Steve, staggers backwards. They look at each other. Over the racks of wrapping paper, spools of thread, stacks of magazines. Their eyes are red, but dry. Swallowing, Danny’s certain, is an impossibility, it just feels like there’s a lump of mashed potato that never went down, blocking the way. His legs seem to have forgotten what purpose they serve. He wants to just collapse onto the floor and hide under the table, like he used to as a kid, when he needed a break from the neighborhood riffraff, and found his mother frightened them enough they wouldn’t dare enter the realm of the craft room. 

So he does. He slides down into a heap on the floor. And it’s not exactly dusty, his mom’s too tidy a housekeeper for that, but there are threads and ends of ribbon and sequins, and it’s comforting somehow. And then Steve’s next to him, those strong comforting hands finding exactly the right places to touch, to ground him, to give him what he needs, without making it worse.

And that, of course, makes it all _so much fucking worse_.

Now he’s crying, and as soon as he notices it he realizes that Steve already was, and what does that say, he wants to know, that he made a future Navy SEAL (because there may be doubt in Steve’s own mind, about his ability to make the grade, but there’s sure as hell not in Danny’s) cry. And their kisses are desperate and clinging and broken. Because they know, they have tonight, and that’s it.

And how the absolute fuck is anyone supposed to deal with that?

So they don’t. Because once more it becomes about what time they do have, so they pull themselves together, and they brush themselves off, and they stand, and look at each other for far too long in the near dark of the room, and then they go out to pack, which means nothing, really, because they never unpacked. And Danny’s mom has made sure no one else is there, and she gives them a bag of food, and kisses each of them on the cheek, and shoos them out the door, where there’s a cab waiting to take them to the station. And somehow they make it all the way back to the city, holding hands surreptitiously under the bags they hold on their laps.

By the time they’re back to the apartment, they’re humming with suppressed energy. They crash in through the door, fall into the room, and they’re tearing their clothes off, falling first on the sofa, then on the bed, and they make love (Danny has to call it that now, he can’t not) not once, not twice, but three times, because who cares about sleep, they both will have time enough for that after.... After. God. After. Only, Danny’s pretty sure he’s never going to sleep again. Not the way he has with Steve. And his heart doesn’t shatter at the thought because there’s just nothing left at this point anyway, nothing whole enough _to_ shatter.

And maybe, maybe he’s being entirely too melodramatic about everything. Maybe he always has been, and maybe he always will be. And maybe he doesn’t care. Because it’s his fucking heart, thank you, and he knows what he feels. And just because he’s twenty two does not mean he’s an idiot, does not mean the feelings in his heart have any less meaning than they would if he was thirty two, in which case no one would even think to question his feelings, so fuck you, he thinks, to the world at large. Just. Fuck. You.

They don’t say _I Love You_. There’s no fucking point and it’s probably not true anyway. It’s such a terribly meaningless phrase. It’s for Hallmark Cards and great aunts who smell like mothballs. It’s not for guys who kiss you up against filthy brick walls, not for guys you fuck senseless in someone else’s crappy apartment in snatched moments of sheer bliss, not for guys who rescue you from jackasses in seedy clubs, not for sailors who hold your hand under the pillows on the sofa in your family’s rec room while the Christmas lights flicker on the ceiling. It’s not for them. They had their time in the sun—or really, under the neon and twinkly lights. And now it’s ending. And their lives will go back to what they were before. Only they can’t. Danny can’t. Because he’ll never be that person again. Not the one he was before Steve, and certainly not who he was _with_ Steve. And that, that’s a goddamn fucking shame, because he really liked that guy, the guy he was with Steve. Danny and Steve. They’re fucking fantastic together, and if they only had the chance, he thinks, man. They could be amazing.

They don’t sleep, not really. They drift off for bits, one of them letting his eyes close while the other watches to see how he looks in his sleep, memorizing it. Not that it helps. They don’t talk, but it’s so fucking thick in the air, the not talking, Danny feels like it’s burning his lungs each time he breathes. Which he doesn’t do a whole lot of.

Finally, when it’s starting to get light out, and it feels like their doom is approaching, Steve sits up.

“We could write.” He doesn’t sound very hopeful about it.

Danny takes a deep breath, lets it out almost silently, but the bed shakes with it. Slowly, he shakes his head.

“Yeah.” It’s more an admission of it being a terrible idea than anything.

Danny knows he doesn’t need to explain, but he does. Just a little. “It’d just make it worse.” He sounds worse than he’d thought he would, and he regrets having spoken when he hears Steve suck in a harsh breath.

“ _Danny_....”

He shakes his head again, more vigorously this time. “I’m sorry. It just. I know me, I know what that would do to me. I have to focus on where and when I _am_ , or I fall apart.”

Steve wants to move closer, hold him. Danny can see it, streaming out of his eyes as he clearly holds back tears. “I could visit....” Now Steve sounds awful, and it hurts Danny somewhere ridiculously deep, like his freaking bone marrow. He aches with it, and he thinks it’s the worst pain he’s ever felt. He wonders if that’s how Steve feels. Thinks probably it is.

Danny almost laughs. “That wouldn’t work.... _It would never work_.” He looks up at Steve, his head lowered, hair falling into his eyes because it’s easier that way, just a little. “There’s no way forward, you have to see that. This ends here, and there’s not a damn thing either of us can do about it.”

“ _Well_....” Steve starts, and Danny swears silently like he’s been punched in the gut again, just like that first time their eyes met. Because he knows, he knows what Steve is about to suggest, and he can’t let him say it. He looks up, tries to give a look as _warning_ , as threatening as he can, because if Steve says it out loud, offers, out loud, to throw away his entire fucking life, his career, his dream, for Danny, who he’s known for less than a fucking week, Danny knows that would be monumentally stupid. And such a big part of him is screaming that he wants it, and he feels like it’ll spit him in two. He vaguely supposes that trying to give someone a death glare while crying isn’t terribly effective, and yet, Steve knows. He closes his eyes and nods, once, then he scoots forward and takes Danny in his arms, and they just sit, holding each other, crying silently, and letting it.... Well. _Letting hope die_ , is what it feels like, in Danny’s heart.

Steve gets up to shower, holds his hand out to Danny, and they slowly, tenderly wash each other, and it’s how they say goodbye.

They pack up their stuff and leave together. Danny knows he can’t stay in that apartment alone, he can never stay there again. Part of him wants to never be in the City without Steve, though he knows that’s stupid. They kiss once, in the entry, under that damned precarious bulb, and Danny thinks it was right all along. It’s a feather light kiss, the opposite of their first. Then they step out into the cold sunlight and go in opposite directions—Steve to his ride back to campus, Danny to wander aimlessly for a few hours before heading back to his shared house near campus. It doesn’t feel melodramatic or histrionic in the least when Danny realizes that it seems as though with each step, he’s moving further and further away from his heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh, loving the tears and comments so much. <3 Thank you! 
> 
> One more chapter of torturing poor Danny, then... the garage..... (Does it seem odd to be obsessed with a garage? Hmmm.)

Danny doesn’t get over it.

For the first month he doesn’t sleep more than a couple hours a day, and he gets so sick he falls behind in his classes, and it scares him enough to make him shove the pain further down and get on with things anyway.

He doesn’t manage it, hiding from the pain. But he does get his work done, and done fantastically, thanks, and he graduates with honors and everyone’s so proud, and he doesn’t fucking care at all. After graduation, he allows himself to feel the pain again, fully. And after all that time in the dark, he’s hoped it would have faded at least a little, but it feels like it’s barely lessened, and he gives up trying.

Somehow that helps him decide, and it’s only days after moving back home that he’s applied to the police academy. It makes him feel closer to Steve, and at first that makes it hurt so much worse. But then, as he focuses on trying to become the best damn cop he can, he realizes he can pour that part of him into the work, and it fuels him, and it almost feels like it might burn out, because it burns so fucking brightly. But it doesn’t. It just grows stronger.

He has a few one night stands, when it gets really bad. Each of which he instantly regrets, and swears not to do again. Then he almost falls, for a sweet guy at the coffee shop who learns how Danny likes his coffee best. And they date, for a very short time, but Danny knows he will always compare him to Steve, so he ends it before he breaks the guy’s heart. He stops even looking at guys, because none of them come close to Steve, and none of them ever will, and it’s not fair, he thinks. Not to anyone.

It’s been since sophomore year of college since Danny slept with a girl, but he starts noticing them, and he decides that’s a good thing, and maybe he pushes it a bit too hard, and he fumbles a lot at first, but he eases back a bit, shifts his expectations, and tries to think of getting married. Having a family. The whole “settling down” thing. Because that’s not something he could have had with Steve, and maybe that will make it easier. There’s a gal from his class at the academy who he vaguely thinks he could fall for, but he knows that’s a dumb idea. Partners never work as partners, he knows that—he’s had that drilled into his brain during training.

One of Bridget’s friends, one who’s always had a crush on him, if his sister’s to be believed, starts hanging out around him. She’s cute and petite and feminine, and she’s utterly the opposite of Steve in every way. She flirts with him at bars and dances with him at clubs, and he thinks he does a reasonable job of flirting back, but she always pulls away at the last minute. And then, at the family Fourth of July party, they both get drunk, and they stumble into bed, and he thinks the sex is actually not that bad, and he falls asleep thinking he could almost make it work with her, but in the morning she kisses him on the forehead and never looks back.

He stops trying after that.

And then Rachel hits his car with hers, and somehow, something about her forcefulness reminds him of Steve, the way she sweeps him away. And maybe he’s weak, or maybe he just needs to be swept away, but he lets it. When Rachel gets pregnant, he isn’t ready for that, not ready for that much reality, and he freaks out about it (like he’s always freaked out about life changes). But when he meets his baby girl, his heart breaks and seals back together in a way he doesn’t understand, and he knows he will never be the same, and he falls so in love with her that it physically hurts each day he has to go to work. Even though he and Rachel fight too much, he convinces himself that it’s worth it because he has Grace, and for a while he almost believes it. For a while it almost works. Until it all falls apart.

Danny only realizes after it’s truly over that he was thinking of Steve the whole fucking time. How can you do that and not even be aware of it? He hates himself for that. It’s been more than ten years, and he still can’t get over a guy he slept with for less than a fucking week. He thinks that’s got to be the most messed up thing ever. He falls into a gloom that’s worse even than after the whole Tony disaster, and he’s only saved by his baby brother, who somehow knows something he hasn’t let on, who takes it upon himself to sit, every night with Danny. Just sit, drinking beers, not talking, just being. And Danny wonders how much Matty noticed about him and Steve, because while he never says anything, Danny starts to think he knew. It never occurred to him to think what his mom and Bridge might have ever said to each other, but he wonders now, and he wonders if either of them ever talked with Matt.

Somehow, those sessions with his brother help, and maybe he should realize it’s because he’s allowing himself to think about Steve. Even though it hurts, he’s allowing the place Steve still holds in his heart, allowing that pain to be a part of him, not trying to demand it leave, not expecting it to fade. And maybe that sounds dumb, but it seems to actually help—far more than pretending it wasn’t real and trying to force loving someone else ever did.

And then Rachel announces she and Stan are moving to Hawaii, and if he wants to be a part of Grace’s life, he has to move there too, and Danny thinks finally his torture is complete. He’s going to live out his miserable life on the fucking island that is going to every single day scream “Steve” in his ears until he goes insane. Or dies from the agony of it. Really could his life get any more fucked up?

He does it, of course, because he simply cannot be away from Grace. He let his heart walk away from him once and he’s spent every day since then regretting it, and he will _not_ do that again.

He hates Hawaii. He tries to pretend it’s not because it makes him think of Steve _constantly_. It’s warm, it’s soft, it’s friendly, it’s sexy in a way like it doesn’t even notice. Effortless. The whole goddamn island is effortless, just like Steve was. And it feels like being punched in the gut every single day. It’s like the island _is_ Steve, and Danny thinks he really is slowly going insane.

He wonders if Steve ever visits. If he’s ever come _home_. And for six months, Danny’s a fucking disaster. Meka helps, to some extent. They get on in a way Danny’s not had with a guy friend in far too long. And of course Grace helps. But he only gets to see her very little—he’s actually worked out the hours, because his mind still works that way, the stats and figures. And once he’d written it all down, and seen what his life has been reduced to, he’d cried for an hour straight and had a migraine for two days after. He keeps that tally sheet of his time with his daughter taped to the inside of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and twice a day while he brushes his teeth he stares at it, and hates his life.

But—and he would never admit it, _but_ —the sunshine helps. The hot sand under his bare feet helps. It’s the closest he’s felt to the warmth, the heat, he felt with Steve, and it hurts, because he remembers walking with Steve along the East River, listening to him talk about the beach. But the soft Hawaiian sunshine soothes the ache, deep within Danny’s chest. And he’s starting to think just maybe someday he’ll be okay again.

And then he gets taken off a case with Meka, because he was so pissed at Rachel, he fucking messed up, and he’s put on a murder investigation that he hopes to god isn’t who he thinks it is, and he actually throws up, his first time at the crime scene, and that hasn’t happened since his rookie year, but he sees the photos in the house, photos in which he clearly sees a teenage Steve. And he knows. The blood on the wall is Steve’s dad’s.

No one seems to be sure if Steve will come home or not, but Danny knows. Danny knows, this will get Steve to come back.

And he has no fucking idea how that makes him feel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, the comments, you guys! *swoons* 
> 
> And I'm sorry I'm behind on replying... but I am in love with your comments. Thank you, thank you, thank you! _Comments are life_. Ungh.
> 
> ..... Now..... Finally. The garage!

When he pulls up, that afternoon, to the McGarrett house, and he hears someone in the garage, his heart races, his hands sweat, he feels like he’s gonna throw up again. Pulling his gun, because he could be wrong, it could be the killer returned. He knows it’s not. He knows who it is. And Danny’s pretty sure he’s not going to be okay.

It’s been twelve years and several lifetimes, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere. It goes directly to his heart and then sinks lower, and shit, this can’t be happening, his body can’t _still_ react this way to simply seeing Steve, hearing his voice. But it does. He almost wishes Steve would shoot him.

And, what does it say anyway, about how they’d left things, that this is how they meet again. With guns drawn. He almost thinks, for too long a moment, that Steve doesn’t recognize him. But then he catches Steve looking sideways at him, and it’s exactly that same look, the one he’ll never forget, the one that makes him go weak in the fucking knees, and yeah, Steve knew. Instantly. Just like Danny did.

And when Steve calls the governor, when he says “I found something that made me change my mind,” and he’s pointedly not looking at Danny, even though Danny knows Steve’s just been gazing at him with that same fucking heated look he still sees in his dreams, and Danny’s heart _stops_. His mouth falls open, and all he can do is stare, blankly, at Steve, as he takes the case away from him. And walks away. Again.

Danny somehow goes home, has no clue what he’s going to do, feels utterly bereft, utterly unsure of anything, just _lost_...

And suddenly, Steve’s banging on the door to Danny’s shitty apartment, swooping in and sweeping Danny away—and Danny tries really hard not to compare it to how _he’d_ swept Steve away that very first night, he tries really hard, but something about the way Steve claims Danny as his partner makes him think he’s making a fucking point with it somehow, and he doesn’t know what he’s after, and he’s stunned by it, and yet he thinks that’s dumb of him, because it just fits perfectly. And in that one moment he’s seriously torn between wanting to punch Steve squarely in the jaw and wanting to shove him down on the stupid fold out sofa bed and start fucking making up for wasted stupid time.

He does neither, of course, until Steve gets him actually fucking shot, for crying out loud. Their first time together as partners, and, oh, _this_ bodes well, yeah, great, this is going to go _so_ well. And then when Steve folds Danny’s uninjured arm back behind him, and fuck that hurts and not in a good way, and that does it, the choice is made for Danny, and he’ll admit, punching Steve felt _really_ good.

Not as good as fucking him would, but he tries to burry that thought as deeply as he can.

And so the tone is set, evidently. And they bicker, they bite, they argue, they fight about _everything_. And he wonders if this is how they would have become, or if this is because they refuse to deal with the situation they’ve found themselves in.

Because obviously they’re not going to talk about it.

They fall into a somewhat uncomfortable routine. Not talking about how many times they’d fucked, not talking about how in love they’d been, because of course, that would be impossible. It becomes something of a game, he thinks, how long they can hold out before one of them breaks. Pretty damn impressively long, as it turns out.

But while Danny’s waiting for that break, that failing, that finally giving in and doing something about this insanity that is now his life, while he’s holding his breath, little things are happening... things like Grace, despite (or maybe because of) all of Danny’s complaining to her about his boss, decides that Steve’s a really cool guy, and he sure seems to like you a lot, Danno.... Little things like Danny sees how Steve is with Chin and Kono, how he’s protective of them, how he sweeps them into his orbit like he did Danny, how he has lost more family than Danny can stand, but how he creates his own, wherever he goes. And Danny remembers how his classmates had swooned around Steve the first time Danny saw him, and he’s jealous of that magnetism, that compelling, tidal pull, and maybe he starts to let those waves wear away at him little.

He watches Steve while he drives Danny’s car, and maybe he admires the way the man handles a gun, alright? The way he moves when he’s going after a suspect, when he’s leading an op. The way he busts down doors and leaps from rooftops. And maybe he yells at Steve about following procedure, and maybe it’s not that Danny cares so much about _that_ so much as he _does_ care about Steve, dammit, and about this fragile truce they’re creating, and if Steve blows this, it means Danny looses him again. And he can’t go there, okay? This may be some kind of living hell, it may hurt like that gunshot hit him in the heart, every single day. But they’re together, in some way, they’re together. And if this is all it can be, maybe someday it will feel like enough.

The interesting thing is that Danny’s sleeping well, crappy bed and all, for the first time in ages. He tries not to think about that. But he does notice it.

Months pass like this. And the edges smooth a bit. Steve’s antagonism, his rage, mellows—worn away by Danny yelling at him. Danny’s own bitterness and vitriol dilute, with Steve’s unceasing pushing. And, he’s almost gotten used to it, their playful banter, their almost flirting, how everyone thinks they’re a couple—oh, god, if only they knew—but Danny’s given up trying to decide if he thinks Steve really wants it, really wants to be with him again. And somehow Danny himself hasn’t been able to decide that. Hasn’t _let_ himself decide that is probably more accurate. _Not_ deciding has become comfortable. Because at least it’s not _no_.

But those tendrils of connection have been stirring to life this whole time, and they’re more uncertain than they were in the City. Maybe the island heat and stupor makes them lazy or maybe everything’s just on that fucking irritating _island time_. But they’re there. Danny feels them, sometimes more than others, but they’re definitely there. They’re there when Steve wears his uniform and Danny feels twinges of desire that are very fucking hard to suppress. They’re there when Steve looks proudly at his team after a case well-solved. They’re there when Danny yells at Steve for something unbelievably stupid he did and Steve just smiles so fondly back. They’re there when they sit on the beach at Steve’s place and drink beers, and still. Don’t. Fucking. Talk. About. _Any of it_.

It’s December now, and just a few days before Christmas (and maybe that’s part of what does it, maybe he should have seen that coming). They’ve ended up at a club, for a case, and their lead went nowhere, and it’s late, and instead of going back to HQ, Steve looks at Danny—that look, the one look—and he says “Enough.”

He calls Chin and Kono, who are waiting back at HQ, running intel, and he tells them they’ll pick things up in the morning, but go home now and get some rest. Which is evidently not what he has in mind for Danny and himself, because he orders four shots of vodka, downs one, then holds another out to Danny. He looks angry. Danny swears sparks are coming out of his eyes. They hold their shots out at each other, staring each other down for a good long while, then Danny caves and swallows his, grabbing the second one and gulping it down as well.

The music is pounding. The noise is almost like silence in Danny’s ears compared to how loudly his heart is beating. Steve takes Danny’s hand, leads him to the middle of the dance floor.

“Dance with me.” Steve’s voice is soft, Danny’s amazed he can hear it. And there’s a thread of hurt there, obviously. But there’s a roughness Danny recognizes, and he won’t deny it thrills him. And he’s remembering the last time they danced, as he moves closer, and Steve waits until he’s right up next to him, almost touching, and then wraps his arm around Danny’s back and pulls him _so_ tight, and oh my god, Danny had no idea you could remember being held, but fuck, you can, and he remembers this, physically, like it’s etched on his skin, and it stings, and it hurts like hell, but oh, shit it feels good, even better than he remembered, and they’re dancing, and Steve hasn’t lost a step. He can close his eyes, and he’s back there, in that filthy hole in the wall club where he’d been miserable and over the moon at the same time and he wants to cry but his eyes are completely dry, and they just dance. And it’s been far far too long since Danny’s let music just sweep him away like this. They can’t go back to what was, obviously. And what they might have now will never come close. But maybe that’s even better, because they’re not kids anymore.

“It wouldn’t have worked,” Steve says, in Danny’s ear. “You know that. We would have destroyed each other.” He pauses, and Danny’s not sure if that’s all he’s going to say, but then he feels Steve take a breath, and it occurs to him that he’s been building up to this, and maybe what Danny’d taken for Steve holding out was actually him trying to work out the best way to convince Danny.... Because what he says fucking melts Danny’s brittle heart. “But it can work now, you have to see that. It absolutely can work now.”

“You just assume I want that.”

“Yeah. I do. I know you do. I know _you_ , Danny. I’ve known you since that magical December night when you changed my life.”

“Jesus, Steven.”

“What? It’s true. You know that. God. I know you know that. Don’t fuck with me, Danny. Please. Not anymore. Alright? We’re done. That’s enough. Enough.”

“Everything’s different now.”

“It’s not. Not what matters. Your heart is still the same—no, it is. You’ll tell me it’s been stepped on and broken and battered, and yeah, it has, and so’s mine. So we fix them. Alright? We fix them by letting them back together where they belong.”

“God, it’s like really bad poetry.”

“Shut up and stop being an ass, Daniel.”

“No, but seriously. We’re not kids anymore.”

“Right, so this time we won’t fuck it up, okay? This time we’ll make it work. We know what we’re getting ourselves into.”

“No, we really don’t. This isn’t college, this isn’t some whirlwind holiday romance. This is real fucking life, Steve. We’re actual fucking grownups.”

“Exactly my point.”

And as if to emphasize that, the music shifts suddenly to a mellow song, and what the hell, who slow dances at clubs? Danny sighs, and he lets himself fall against Steve, and he knows he’s giving in, he’s pretty sure there was never any doubt. He feels the way their bodies line up, just exactly like they had twelve years ago. Steve’s filled out, obviously, but he feels the same, somehow. Being this close is taking Danny back, so tangibly to that time, he’s not sure if his heart can cope. And Danny really wants to know if the rest of it will feel the same... he knows it won’t. Of course it won’t, it will all be completely different. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe that actually will be a good thing.

And then one thought occurs to him, and it makes him laugh.

“What?” Steve pulls away enough to look down at him. “What’s so funny?”

“My mom will be over the fucking moon.” And there’s that crooked, amused, cocky grin, like Steve’s still twenty-two. Shit. He’s missed that. He wants to kiss it away. “She always liked you best.”

And Steve actually fucking _blushes_ , and tries to cover it. “Okay, that’s it. Can we please go now and make out like college kids?”

Danny swallows down his terror. “I...”

“Just making out, Danny. I know you’re not up for more, but... I swear, if I don’t get to kiss you soon, I am going to pass out.”

And, well, shit. He wonders if Steve remembers everything Danny said to him, and he thinks, yeah, probably he does. He’s pretty sure he remembers everything Steve said to him, so really it’s only fair. He echoes Steve’s words from twelve years ago back at him.

“Well, we can’t have that, now, can we.”

So, they leave. And they make it to the Camaro, where they proceed to make out just like they had that Christmas in New York. Only there’s more of an edge to it, which Danny figures is what four months of pretending there’s nothing still there will do to you, even if you’re in your thirties now.

Danny pulls back, eventually, and it reminds him, physically, of that first night. He knows again that they’re both painfully hard. “You gotta go. Now. Please.”

Steve nods. He knows. They’re not gonna fuck this up. They can’t. Danny’s pretty sure he won’t survive going through that heartache for a second time. Steve gets out and heads for his truck, which is a few blocks away. Walking won’t be fun for him, Danny thinks, snidely. He doesn’t really mind. Takes him a good few minutes before he feels okay starting up the engine and driving home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For the purposes of this story, please disregard the canon events of Christmas 2010.)
> 
> Oh, you guys, my heart melts from the comments. Thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me. <3
> 
>  ******* _Just one tiny note. I am super behind on watching the show, so please no spoilers or comments or references to anything, please._

He doesn’t sleep. A few times he drifts fitfully into something approximating rest, though it feels anything but restful. Come morning he’s in a rotten mood, so when his doorbell rings at seven on the dot he wants to throw something.

Of course it’s Steve. Of course. Huge cup of coffee, and a box of malasadas.

“It’s not Italian pastry. Strangely, there’s no place for that here. But, the sentiment’s the same.”

“If you think I’m gonna say let’s fuck first, you are a bigger ass than I thought.”

“No, Danny, I don’t. But I do think you’re gonna let me in.”

He sighs, moves to the side, and taking the coffee from Steve, mumbles “Kitchen.” And follows him.

Despite the fact they plan to work today, Steve’s all weekend casual in shorts and tee, and he’s kicked his flip flops off at the door. His bare feet taunt Danny’s own, he wants to feel them tangling together under the sheets. But he refuses to let himself fall too swiftly back into that intimacy. Yes, alright, he’s not denying he wants it. But it’s Christmas, he’s got Grace to think of, and he’s still a goddamn mess over the fucking divorce. He doesn’t need complication right now. He needs simplification. And Steve, he knows, is going to be complicated. Danny’s brain simply can’t cope right now with all of this. It’s just simply _too much_. (Okay, the not sleeping didn’t help. Happy?)

Steve’s watching him like he can read all of those thoughts, and Danny realizes he probably can.

“I know,” Steve says, warmly, as he sets the box of malasadas on the counter. “We need to take it slow. I _want_ us to take it slow.” He leans back against the counter, and the way it makes his hips jut out stirs something in Danny he hasn’t felt in twelve years. Danny’s reasonably sure Steve’s done it on purpose.

“That’s shit,” Danny hisses.

“What?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Okay, fine. I’d take you across the kitchen counter if I thought it could handle it.” It’s heated and it’s so honest it stings.

Danny sneers.

“But I know you need to go slow. I know you’ve been through hell,” Steve sighs, and Danny realizes it’s hard for him to not move forward, to not hold Danny. He can see it written so clearly in his eyes. Thing is, he’s pretty sure it’s the same look Steve’s been giving him for months, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with that. “I just also happen to remember another time in your life when you were going through hell and you let me in. That’s all I’m asking for now.”

“Steven, I let you in my pants. Not... _in_ in.”

“That’s bull and you know it.”

“Okay, the whole quoting each other back at each other thing has to stop.”

Steve grins. “I kinda like it.”

“I’m entirely certain that you do.”

They stand there awkwardly, eating malasadas, drinking coffee, and it feels like they reach some kind of peace with things, and then Steve kisses him on the cheek (that’s something new and different, and Danny realizes he likes it), and whispers they’d better get to the office before Chin and Kono get suspicious. Danny’s sure they already are, so what does it matter, but he tosses the keys to Steve, because he’ll just take them anyway. Steve drives them slowly to work, and it almost feels domestic, and Danny enjoys it a lot more than he wants to admit, and he tells the voice in his head that’s repeating “partners can’t be partners” like it’s some kind of mantra to fuck the hell off.

  
Christmas Eve. It’s like 85 degrees out. Jesus.

There’s a box of wrapped presents from his mom. And he hasn’t been dealing with it, just left it in the closet. He pulls it out now, and lifts them out, one at a time. Three for Grace, two for Danny, and—and he gasps, but knows, just _knows_ he should have seen it coming—one for Steve. He’s pretty damn sure he knows what’s in it, and his heart thuds thickly in his ears.

Holding it close, he sighs. Calls his mom.

“Hey, baby, how’s my boy?”

“Why’d you do it, mom. It’s not like that.”

“Oh, I think it is, sweetheart. Or will be, if you let it. You seem to forget I know you, Daniel. And I think I know Steve just a little bit as well.”

And it hits Danny, and he hates he’s never seen it. They stayed in touch. He thinks part of him knew that.

“What’s he told you, mom.”

“Now, honey. That is between me and Steven. You know that. But he loves you and you’re an idiot if you don’t see it.”

“He loved me then. He doesn’t now. He can’t.”

“And why not, baby cakes?”

“Because everything’s different now.”

“Your heart’s not.”

Danny laughs. Hard and sharp, and it hurts his throat. “That’s what he fucking said.”

“Just give him a chance, baby doll. Let him prove it.”

Danny sighs and places the package under the tree, next to the gift to Steve from him. He got it before the club, before the kissing... back when Steve had first commandeered him as his partner and proceeded to insult his sartorial choices—with, he might point out, extreme irony that he blatantly (and totally characteristically) ignored. It’s a tie, of course. It has pineapples on it, and Danny fully plans on making Steve wear it. Preferably to a big important meeting. Or out to dinner. ...Or maybe in bed, with nothing else....

And keeping his life simple is not something Danny’s ever really been very good at, now is it. He’s not at all confident in his ability to resist Steve for much longer, and he knows full well that his life will descend into chaos. But then. It’s kind of already there.

  
The team, this really quite wonderful team, all come over for the two hours he has Grace that night. They eat too many cookies and they open silly presents (Steve even puts on the tie, and everyone laughs) and they actually have a pretty fantastic time, and Danny’s very afraid that his heart is going to shatter when she has to leave. He knows Steve can tell. He’s been staying close to Danny, but not too close, and not actually touching him, and maybe that’s driving Danny a tiny bit mad. The others leave, before the two hours are up, so that Danny and Grace can have some time for the two of them. But Steve stays. He doesn’t even ask, he doesn’t give Danny a choice, just lingers in the kitchen cleaning up, while Danny and Grace open the presents from his mom. And knowing Steve is there makes it possible, keeps him from breaking, and Danny’s really grateful, but he’s not going to admit that.

After Grace leaves, Danny closes the door and turns to find Steve standing there, looking warmly at him. He’s taken the tie off, but he’s got it tucked in his shirt pocket, a tea towel slung over his shoulder. The kitchen is cleaner than it’s ever been, and he wants to smile.

“I hate you, you know.”

“You really don’t.”

And somehow, just like that, they’re kissing. Danny has nothing left with which to resist—although it’s probably more honest to say he doesn’t _want_ to resist. They collapse on the sofa, when they can’t breathe any more, falling apart on a sigh, and Steve lifts Danny’s feet up on his lap, and he just sits there like there’s nowhere else he belongs, and he looks so damn content, and Danny wonders, thinks, _hopes_ , that maybe they really can make this work.

“Mom sent a gift for you, too, you know,” he says eventually. Steve grins, clearly pleased, and Danny punches him in the arm, but softly. “Did you guys ever fall out of touch? In twelve years?” Steve bites his lips together, but shakes his head _no_ , and Danny feels dizzy with the weight of it. His eyes prick with heat and he almost chokes. “So, you probably know what the gift is, because I have a feeling you have thirteen of them now.”

Steve smiles, softly, warmly, fondly, and Danny wonders just how close the two of them have become over the years. His heart pulses with the thought. “I’ve kept every single one. They really are the best pillowcases.”

Danny pulls his feet off Steve’s lap and moves closer to him. Steve leans back, wraps an arm around Danny, who falls more solidly against his side. And it feels so like that Christmas twelve years ago, only minus the fire and the drinks, but it feels _better_. So much better. Because neither of them has anywhere else they need to be. It’s a simple thing. But it means everything, and it makes anything possible. Which is a little bit terrifying.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

“ _Mele kalikimaka_ , buddy.”

Maybe it won’t work. But Danny feels more _whole_ than he has in twelve years, and that’s not something he’s willing to let go of easily. Besides. He’s pretty sure Steve’s actually incapable of letting go this time. And Danny thinks he’s known that from the first day, in the garage. Which, he thinks, is almost as remarkable as that other first, twelve years ago in front of the bar. It feels a little like they have no control over it, they’re just along for the ride, following where they’re taken. And it’s an overwhelming feeling, but it doesn’t freak him out, it doesn’t make him cry, it doesn’t hurt as much as it has been, all their wasted stupid time.... He thinks finally, that he’s starting to heal. And that’s the second time in his life that Steve’s done that to him. And maybe that’s what pushes him, because once that thought’s settled inside his heart, everything else seems to click into place.

“This bed sucks,” Danny says, a little tentatively.

“Yeah, I’m sure it does,” Steve murmurs absently.

Danny just bites his lip and waits.

“ _Oh_.”

Danny raises his eyebrows at him.

Steve, ninja that he is, jumps up and rushes for the door, turns to see Danny hasn’t moved, comes back to the sofa, pulls him up and pushes him (not very gently) towards the door, then seems to think the better of something.

“Go pack a bag.”

Danny hesitates.

“ _Please_.”

Something warm and completely delightful washes over Danny, as he feels some of the awful gloom from the last time he’d packed a bag in Steve’s presence just shatter and fall away. And he has no idea what he throws in his duffel, but he feels a little like it just doesn’t matter. He grabs the present from his mom, tosses it at Steve, turns out the lights, grabs his gun and his badge, and hands Steve the keys.

He lets Steve lock the door to the apartment, and somehow that feels powerfully symbolic, he thinks. They stand there for a moment, both remembering the last time they stood together, with bags in their arms, under a porch light, and they kiss. This time it’s not feather light, it’s not soft. This time it’s hard and filled with too many years worth of pain and regret and longing. But when they walk away, it feels like they leave a little of that pain there on the step, and as they climb into the Camaro, Danny feels lighter, and of course Steve drives too fast, but Danny doesn’t complain, because it feels perfect and cleansing and like moving forward. They walk in the door of Steve’s house, and Danny drops his bag on the floor.

Steve gives him this look, and Danny just knows. Knows what he’s thinking. Knows what he’s going to say.

“ _Now I’m_ _home_.”

Danny closes his eyes and smiles, but before they can kiss, he walks slowly up the stairs and into Steve’s room. He turns in the doorway, intentionally blocking Steve, and lets Steve push him, slowly, back onto the bed. And god, it’s just like it was—the physical memory is _there_ , so fucking powerfully, and their bodies remember, and it’s the most electric feeling he’s ever known, only it’s not the same, because this time there’s no gnawing, clinging desperation. _Because there’s no end date_. There’s only future and possibility and promise and hope. And all of that floods them, and it’s been a long time, such a long time.

They are nothing if not patient. And understanding, and loving, and tender. And they know each other’s bodies _so_ well, it really doesn’t take as long as maybe it should before they’re right back where they’d left off. It feels like their hearts have some amazing oversight of their bodies, and they sway everything their way, and it’s almost like being transported, but not back... more like forward, but skipping over the pain. Danny remembers thinking how amazing they could be together, and he _knows_ he was right. So goddamn fucking right. And there’s something utterly gratifying about that, and everything that has hurt for twelve years starts to fade, and he knows it will take time, but even to have just begun is more than he had imagined possible.

“Shhhh, you’re thinking too much,” Steve whispers, as he presses into him, and Danny feels like he can finally let go, of everything he’s been trying to hold together for far too long. Finally, god, finally, with Steve inside him, oh, god, everything is right again. And they last considerably longer than they would have before, and he mutters something about some advantage to getting older, and Steve laughs.

And Danny knows he will sleep, better maybe than he ever has before. He swears he’s not slept as well as that night Steve rescued him, the whole time they’ve been apart. And he must say something about it out loud, as he’s basking in the coming sleep, because Steve whispers in his ear:

“No, Danny, it’s you who rescued me, it always was.”

Danny shakes his head, but he’s too tired to argue, and he knows that makes Steve laugh. “Did I finally figure out how to shut you up? I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he says, warmly and so fucking fondly. And he pulls Danny so close, so _so_ close, right against his heart. “ _Enough_ ,” he says, on an exhalation, and Danny knows it has fourteen layers of meaning, and his heart agrees.

Finally, yes. It is enough.


End file.
